


Five Times Bond Stole a Kiss From M – and One Time When He Didn't Have To

by Persiflage



Series: Bondkink Fics [27]
Category: Casino Royale (2006), James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Quantum of Solace (2008), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bond is Definitely M's Boy, Bond is Suave, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Time, Kissing, M is Sexy as Hell, Missing Scene, Prompt Fic, Romance, Stolen Kisses, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Does exactly what it says in the title!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the bondkink comm on LJ. The prompt was _Craig!Bond/Dench!M, Romance, First time, Kisses, Wooing. Something where James Bond actually has to work hard to win M's romantic affections, and in the process he steals five kisses._  
>  It could probably stand to use more wooing, but well, this is where it went!  
> Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit!  
> Spoilers: Casino Royale, Quantum of Solace, Skyfall

1.

Bond's lying in the Infirmary, battered, bruised, and bandaged after yet another field assignment in which he seems to have gone out of his way to endanger himself. As M watches him sleeping she wonders when he's going to realise that she's not impressed by his macho antics; she knows why he does it, of course – he's not the first agent to have a crush on her, and she doubts he'll be the last, either. Naturally, she has no intention of ever letting him know that he's the first agent in a very long time for whom she's seriously considered breaking her self-imposed rule of no fraternisation with her staff. 

She sighs, then gets to her feet and leaves him sleeping. She has a brief word with the medical officer on her way out, asking him to let her know when Bond's awake, then returns to her office.

Once there she begins re-reading Bond's mission report; despite the state in which he's come home, he's done a very good job, and she thinks it might be time to let him try for Double-0 status. There's a matter to be taken care of in Prague and she thinks that he'll be able to handle it for her.

007-007-007

Bond comes back from Prague with a spring in his step, although only someone who knows him as well as M can see it. She calls him into her office to give him his next assignment, and at the same time warns him not to get too cock-a-whoop now that he's a Double-0.

His smile becomes a smirk. "Cock-a-whoop? When am I ever cock-a-whoop?"

She directs her infamous glare at him and the smirk gradually wilts, then his shoulders hunch slightly, and his hands dig into his pockets. "You know full well what I mean, Bond," she says, deliberately not using his number in this instance. "You would do well to remember that the license to kill can be revoked far more easily than it's awarded."

Bond's the perfect visual of a sulking boy by now, so she relents a little. "You did good work in Prague, continue to do so."

"Ma'am."

"Why are you sulking, 007?"

"I'm not," he mutters, and she cannot bite back a laugh. 

"Yes, you are."

His scowl is ferocious, but she ignores that and watches him from the other side of her desk, one eyebrow raised.

"I was going to ask you to go out for dinner with me, to celebrate I mean." He scuffs a toe across the carpet. "You were the one responsible for recruiting me, and without your support I wouldn't have made Double-0." He turns away. "Doesn't matter now, though."

"James." She knows that he'll always respond to her use of his first name because she uses it so rarely, and he stills, then half turns back towards her. "Come back at seven thirty and we'll go to dinner together."

The smile that replaces his scowl is full of boyish delight, and she gives him a nod. "Now go and see Q."

"Yes ma'am." He practically bounces out of the door and she shakes her head slightly in amusement. She's touched, however, that he wants to celebrate his promotion with her rather than anyone else in the office.

007-007-007

He drives her, sedately and carefully, across London to a tiny restaurant she's never heard of, and apparently she's not the only one since the place is virtually deserted. It's quickly obvious, however, that Bond is a regular here judging by the effusive manner with which the staff greets him, and her by extension. 

They enjoy a delicious meal and talk shop since there's no one nearby to overhear them; M notes that James seems more relaxed than she can ever remember him being before. He is also deferential and attentive, and she wonders what's going on in his head, particularly when he insists that she finish up the champagne that he'd ordered. It occurs to her that he might be trying to get her merry, if not outright drunk, but she dismisses the idea almost at once.

He helps her into her coat as they prepare to leave and she is sure that she isn't imagining the way his hands linger around her neck and shoulders as he assists her. She turns her head to admonish him, and finds his mouth on hers as he kisses her. It takes all her will power not to melt into that kiss and to push him away with a fierce exclamation of "Bond!"

"Sorry." The apology is perfunctory and clearly insincere since there's no regret in his eyes.

"Kindly keep your kisses to yourself in future, Mr Bond." She stalks away, head held high, leaving him to follow at his own pace, and when he emerges from the restaurant a taxi is already pulling up to the curb for her.

"Goodnight 007," she says in her chilliest tone, then climbs into the black cab. Once they're out of sight she sighs; it isn't that she doesn't want James, quite the opposite in fact, and therein lies the rub: if she once gives into his desire for her, and her own for him, she knows that he'll feel free to take every advantage and she'll lose control of him altogether. For both their sakes, and the sake of the country, she cannot afford to do that.

This doesn't stop her from taking one of her toys from her drawer before she gets into bed; her husband's away so there's no need to worry about him as she slicks up the vibrator with some lube, then begins easing it into her throbbing pussy. No one needs to know that in the privacy of her own skull, it's James' cock she imagines thrusting into her instead of this lump of cheap plastic, or that it's his name she cries when her pussy muscles clench tightly around the vibrator and she spasms in orgasm. Such matters are for her eyes only.


	2. Two

2\. 

It's soon after their dinner together that Bond kills a bomb maker in the compound of the Nambutu embassy in Madagascar, and when M walks into her flat to find him sitting there at his ease with a pack of cards on the table before him, she loses her temper.

He listens to her dressing down in silence, which annoys her even more: she's in the mood for a fight, and having an argument with him would be cathartic. She watches him leave, then takes off her coat and stalks through to her bathroom: she decides that she needs a long, soothing bath. She wishes her husband was at home as he's quite good at half-listening to her non-specific work tirades, but he's away in Scotland and won't be back until tomorrow, so she has no one at whom to direct her rant.

When she returns to her sitting room forty-five minutes later, a bathrobe wrapped around her, and the desire for a drink nagging at her, she finds a large bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates sitting on the coffee table. Furious, she looks around the room, but there's no sign of Bond, and when she walks over to the coffee table she spots a brief note atop the box of chocolates: _I'm sorry I let you down. I will fix this. James._

She sighs heavily, pours herself a shot of whiskey, and slumps down onto the chair. She glares at the box of chocolates, noting that they're her favourites, which means Bond's been doing rather more ferreting around than she suspected when she discovered that he'd found out where she lived and let himself into her flat. He's ingenious, there's no doubt about it, but he is also infuriatingly exasperating, and there are days when she thinks that she might kill him herself, before she remembers what a good agent he is, and she decides that she won't do it just yet.

007-007-007

M's in Dimitrios' house when Bond and Villiers arrive by helicopter after the latter has squared things with the Miami airport staff and got Bond released from their custody. She goes out to speak to Bond, and isn't surprised when Villiers rushes past, apparently on the verge of vomiting. Her conversation with Bond goes much as she'd expected, although when he tells her that she can stop pretending she wonders what he's going to say next.

"You knew I wouldn't let this drop, didn't you?"

"Well, I knew you were you." She heads back into the house, making her way to the bathroom. When she steps out she's startled to find Bond waiting in the corridor.

"007?"

"They wouldn't let me use the ensuite," he says, gesturing to the master bedroom where Six's men are working with the local police.

"Oh." She moves away from the door. "I forgot to say, well done on not getting blown up, and in preventing the Skyfleet prototype from being destroyed."

He grins, looks both ways along the corridor, then ducks his head and kisses her full on the mouth as his hand presses against the small of her back, bringing her body closer to his. She's not as quick to pull away from him as she was the first time he did this, and she knows that he'll be aware of that fact even if he isn't aware of how aroused he's making her.

She pulls away and glares up at him. "What have I told you before?" she demands, breathlessly.

"To keep my kisses to myself," he says, grinning unrepentantly. "But I notice that you were not so quick to break the kiss this time – I must be getting through."

"I can have you officially reprimanded for such insubordination," she says in her sternest tone.

"Yes, but I don't think you will," he says. "If you really objected to me kissing you, you'd slap me, but you haven't. Part of you wants this, however much you might deny it."

"I dislike arrogant men, Bond." Her tone is icy, but secretly she knows that he's right, and she curses him silently for his acuity. 

"Yes, ma'am." He gives her a nod, then steps into the bathroom, and she makes herself walk away. No good will come of it if she stays, and much as she hates to let him have the last word, in this instance discretion is the better part of valour. 

007-007-007

Once again M finds herself visiting Bond in a hospital, although this time it's a result of someone else's actions rather than his own, that he's there. He's awake when she walks into his room, and the moment he spots her, he turns his head away, but not so quickly that she cannot see the shame in his eyes. She understands his reaction, of course – being tortured is a humiliating experience at any time, but being stripped naked then having your genitals whipped is far worse.

"How are you feeling now, Bond?" she asks as she approaches the bed. She decides to adopt a purely pragmatic approach as she isn't sure he'll want sympathy from her, it might look too much like she thinks he's weak.

"Fine," he says distantly, not turning his head to speak to her. "They say I'll be out of here in another few days."

"Good." As casually as she can, she puts her right hand on the bed not too far from where his right arm rests on top of the covers. "I understand Miss Lynd is making a good recovery, too."

"Yes."

She watches his averted face for a moment, wishing she could convey how sorry she is that Le Chiffre tortured him, but she fears that he'll misinterpret anything she says, so she merely tells him that he'll be on medical leave once he's released and that she'll see him back in London in three weeks. As she prepares to depart she clasps his hand in hers and squeezes it once, then she walks away without looking back to see his reaction.


	3. Three

3.

Entering the hotel in La Paz, Bond is surprised to be given a message from his 'wife' by one of the hotel staff. The slip of paper contains only one word: _Run_. He turns to Camille, who asks, "What is it?"

"Would you mind waiting down here?" he asks.

She nods. "I'll be outside."

He makes his way upstairs to the suite he'd booked into, pausing a moment outside the door before pushing it open and striding in.

"So that's what she meant," he says seeing two MI6 men either side of the door and M standing across the room by the window. "I hope you can trust these men."

M starts towards him as her bodyguard says into his phone, "Just a moment. It's Tanner."

She takes the phone from him. "Yes?" She listens and Bond watches her face as she moves the phone from her ear to tell him, "We've got the girl downstairs. She says to tell you she's sorry, but this is not her fight."

"It isn't," he agrees. "Let her go."

"She isn't our concern," M tells Tanner, her eyes on Bond.

"Well, I'm disappointed," he says when she hands the phone back to her bodyguard.

"You are?" M asks, moving to lean against a chair.

"How much oil did the Americans promise you?"

"This isn't about oil."

"Well that's good, because there isn't any," he tells her angrily.

"It's about trust. You said you weren't motivated by revenge," she says, alluding to the conversation they'd had after he'd brought Mr White to their RV in Italy. 

"I'm motivated by my duty," he says firmly. 

"No. I think you're so blinded by inconsolable rage that you don't care who you hurt." Bond's eyes narrow as he stares at her. He's aware of how filthy he is, and that Mathis' blood still stains his clothes, while M looks cool and calm in her white jacket and blouse, and beige linen trousers. "When you can't tell your friends from your enemies, it's time to go."

Bond frowns, then turns his head swiftly towards the door of the bedroom. He shoots a glare at M, then strides across and thrusts open the doors. Ms Fields lies across the corner of the bed, her body coated in oil, which has pooled onto the carpet.

"You might like to tell her about your theory about there being no oil. Her lungs are full of it," M tells him as she comes to stand beside him.

"It was Greene," he says.

"No doubt," agrees M, "but why?"

"It's just misdirection," he snaps.

"I mean, why her, Bond?" She raises her voice and his head jerks back as he realises that M's furious with him. "She was just supposed to send you home. She worked in an office, collecting reports." Her voice lowers again, but he can see she's still angry with him. "Look how well your charm works, James. They'll do anything for you, won't they? How many is that now?"

Her eyes are fixed on him, but he's looking at the girl on the bed because the disappointment in M's expression is too painful for him to bear. 

"You're removed from duty and suspended pending further investigation. You'll give whatever weapons you have to these men and leave with them now."

He's already moving towards the door, holding out his gun to the spook on the right. Three of them walk him into the lift, but Bond has no intention of going with them, whatever M might say. As soon as the lift door closes, he jerks backwards, butting the man behind him in the face with the back of his head. He moves fast, using the element of surprise, and within moments all three of the agents are on the floor of the lift, despite the fact his hands are cuffed behind his back. He takes the keys for the cuffs and unfastens them just as the lift bell pings and the door opens. He immediately presses the button to close the door, then sends the lift back up to the floor from which he's come. He grabs his gun from the agent to whom he'd given it, and checks it's still loaded, before tucking it into the waistband at the back of his trousers. He steps out of the lift, kicking one man's foot back inside so that the door will close again. 

Making his way back along the corridor towards his suite he meets M coming the other way. She looks up at him, her mouth agape as he tells her, "Miss Fields showed true bravery. I want that mentioned in your report. Now you and I need to see this through."

"There's nowhere to go," M tells him. She glances down towards the front of the hotel. "There's a capture or kill order out on you."

Bond looks down and sees Tanner hurrying into the foyer, together with another handful of Six's men. "Who would have done that?" he asks ironically.

As the men come hurrying upstairs, he brings his hand up to hold the back of M's head and kisses her hard, then he walks over to the decorative rail along the edge of the balcony, and climbs over, making his escape.

M cannot help watching him admiringly, her lips still tingling from his very firm kiss. She wishes she were immune to him, but it appears that she's just like every other woman he encounters: hopelessly smitten, for all she does her best to hide it from him and everyone else. When Tanner hurries up to her, she orders him to find out where Bond's going, understanding instinctively that he knows more than he's told her, and when Tanner objects, mentioning the CIA, she cuts him off,

"He's my agent, and I trust him. Go on." 

As Tanner disappears downstairs, M brings two fingers to her mouth and touches her lips. One of these days she knows she'll be the one to kiss him, and when she does, their fate will be sealed.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't post this earlier (with chapter 3) because I wasn't happy with its ending - but having written another 100 or so words, I am happier with it.

4.

Bond leaves Kabir's apartment, and the two agents by the door immediately go inside. M, who's been waiting outside in the snow, asks, "Is he still alive?"

"He is."

"I'm surprised." She means it, too; she had felt quite sure that Bond would execute the man responsible for getting Vesper Lynd entangled with Quantum since they were the ones to blame for her getting killed.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes."

"Good. I assume you have no regrets."

"I don't," he says firmly, a little too firmly, as if he's trying to convince himself, but she keeps that thought to herself. "What about you?"

"Of course not," she tells him. "That would be unprofessional." After a moment she adds, "They found Greene dead, in the middle of the Bolivian desert, of all places. Two bullets in the back of his skull. They found motor oil in his stomach." His gaze shifts from her face as she asks, "Does that mean anything to you?"

"Wish I could help," he says, and she can see from the way he doesn't meet her eyes that he does know something, but that he doesn't intend to tell her, at least not right now.

"You'll be glad to know I straightened things out with the Americans. Your friend Leiter's been promoted. He replaced Beam."

"Well, then the right people kept their jobs," he observes, his eyes meeting hers again.

She nods slightly. "Something like that."

"Congratulations. You were right."

"About what?"

"About Vesper," he says, beginning to move. He nods at her. "Ma'am." He steps around her, but as he starts to walk away, she calls after him,

"Bond?" He turns to look at her again. "I need you back.

"I never left." He continues moving and she hears a jingle as Vesper's necklace drops from his hand into the snow. After a few moments he turns to look back at her. "Are you coming? You'll catch your death of cold if you stand there without a coat for much longer."

She walks through the snow towards him and when she reaches him, he puts his arm around her, drawing her body against his to share his warmth. "What are you doing out here without a coat anyway?" he scolds, almost as if she's a child or feeble-minded.

"I'm not that cold," she says and he snorts, so she adds, "I can recommend the benefits of thermal underwear."

He stops dead, staring down at her, and she realises, belatedly, that this was far too revealing a remark to be making to Bond, of all people. "Can you indeed?"

"James," she begins, trying to forestall whatever he's about to say or do.

"M." He pulls her into his arms, wrapping his coat around her body as well, then ducks his head to kiss her tenderly. 

"James don't." She wriggles free of him, then reaches up to cup his cheek. "I'm sorry, but we can't do this."

He clasps her wrist and turns his head to kiss the palm of her hand. "I'm sorry, too," he says, and she can see the hurt in his eyes. "I actually thought you cared about me."

"Oh my dear boy." Her voice cracks and she worries that she might be about to embarrass them both by crying. "I care about you a great deal, but it's because I care about you that we can't do this."

"Why not?" he asks, and his tone is so plaintive that she puts her arms back around him.

"I did this once, a long time ago, and things went horribly wrong. I don't want to risk making the same mistakes twice."

As explanations went it was hopelessly inadequate, but she can't tell him the details which are so highly classified they are marked 'Eyes Only', meaning that only M herself has permission to access the files.

"I understand." 

"I don't see how you can," she says, "because that's a rubbish answer, but – "

"M, I understand that you're trying to protect me." She sighs, then nods, and his arms tighten around her. "That may not be exactly what I want from you, but I'd sooner have that than nothing at all."

He releases her, and they make their way back to where he'd left his car earlier. He drives her to the airport, and once they're in the air, he tells her about what happened in Bolivia; talking in detail about Camille's vendetta about General Medrano, and how she had revenged her family.

"Back in La Paz, you accused me of being 'blinded by inconsolable rage'," he observes. "Do you still think that was what was motivating me throughout this mission?"

M gives a quick negative. "No. I shouldn't have let the Foreign Secretary persuade me that you were running wild." She gives him an apologetic look, and impulsively he reaches down and squeezes her fingers in his. "I do trust you, Bond, but sometimes you act so impetuously that your actions seem rash to everyone else."

"So, what you're saying is, next time I'm in the middle of a mission, I should stop to update you?"

She gives him a glare and he ducks his head to hide his smile, but she must guess that's what he's doing because she swats at his arm. "That's not what I meant. But when I tell you to come in to be debriefed, I expect you to do as I ask."

"And if I'd done that, I'd have lost a hot lead," he argues.

She sighs. "I do understand, you know," she says softly. "I haven't entirely forgotten what it was like to be a field agent, despite the fact that I've been sitting behind a desk for so long."

"I never thought otherwise," he tells her quietly. "You don't forget a life like ours." 

She gives a nod, then asks, "What happened to Mathis?"

"I didn't kill him," Bond says quickly. "It was the police."

"I didn't suppose you had. There were no witnesses, after all, and it would've been very easy for Greene to have set you up for that, via the local chief of police."

"I'll miss him." He says the words softly, almost to himself, but M's got sharp hearing and he feels her hand slip into his, then she's the one offering a squeeze of the fingers.

"You should get some sleep," she says.

"Yes, ma'am." Bond doesn't argue because he's aware of how exhausted he is. As he settles to sleep he realises that M's still holding his hand, but he makes no move to disengage: it feels comfortable, and right, somehow.


	5. Five

5\. 

M lets herself into her flat and heads straight for the side table where she keeps the alcohol; she's never been more in need of a drink than tonight. As she pulls the top off the bottle she hears a faint clink behind her, and gives a startled gasp as she turns to face the figure silhouetted against the window. Abruptly she realises who it is.

"Where the hell have you been?" she demands.

"Enjoying death. Double-0 Seven reporting for duty." There's an ironic note in his voice, she notices and she's sure that he's been drinking. She moves across the room and switches on the light, and Bond blinks back at her, glass in one hand, bottle of Scotch in the other.

"Why didn't you call?"

"You didn't get the postcard? You should try it some time," he tells her, turning to put the bottle on the windowsill, "get away from it all. It really lends perspective."

She tightens her lips, annoyed: he's dishevelled, unshaven, badly in need of a shower, and not entirely sober, yet what she most wants is to go to him and kiss him senseless out of sheer relief that he's not dead. She suppresses the urge, however, resorting to sarcasm instead, "Run out of drink where you were, did they?"

He starts moving around the table laden with paperwork as he asks, "What was it you said? 'Take the bloody shot'?"

"I made a judgement call."

"You should've trusted me to finish the job," he says, and she can tell that he's as angry as she is.

"It was the possibility of losing you or the certainty of losing all those other agents," she tells him. "I made the only decision I could and you know it."

Bond shakes his head. "I think you lost your nerve."

"What do you expect? A bloody apology?" she asks, moving towards him until she's standing beside a chair on which she takes a firm grip. "You know the rules of the game, you've been playing it long enough. We both have."

"Maybe too long," he says, and she hates the way that he's unknowingly echoing Mallory's sentiment from earlier in the day.

"Speak for yourself."

"Ronson didn't make it, did he?"

"No."

"So this is it – we're both played out."

She lifts her eyebrows. "Well, if you believe that, why did you come back?"

"Good question."

She nods slowly. "Because we're under attack, and you know we need you," she says, knowing it's true. If it hadn't been for the explosion at HQ, he'd probably have stayed away for good, letting her believe that she'd lost him, letting her continue to have nightmares in which her words to Eve Moneypenny echoed and re-echoed through her brain in an endless, repetitive loop and she pictures him falling from a moving train into a waterfall.

He sighs heavily. "Well, I'm here."

"You'll have to be debriefed and declared fit for active service," she tells him, even though she knows he's aware of the procedure. "You can only return to duty when you've passed the tests, so take them seriously." He may be her best, and favourite, agent, but she won't send him out if he's physically or mentally unfit. "And a shower might be in order." She makes herself walk away from him.

"I'll go home and change," he says.

M turns back. "Oh, we've sold your flat, put your things into storage." He's looking at her open-mouthed, and she can't resist another dig, "Standard procedure on the death of an unmarried employee with no next of kin. Should've called." 

He stands there, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, looking slightly bemused. "I'll find a hotel," he says.

"Well, you're bloody well not sleeping here," she says firmly, and walks away towards the kitchen, deciding that a cup of tea might be better than a double Scotch.

After a few moments he enters the kitchen and comes up behind her. "I'm sorry, M," he says softly.

She turns around, but whatever she was going to say is forgotten now that she's seeing him in such close proximity: he's got a little-boy-lost expression in his blue eyes that makes her reach out against her better judgement and place a hand on his arm. "So am I," she tells him.

The next moment his arms are around her and he's clinging to her as if he'll never let her go. "Oh James," she sighs.

"Please don't send me away," he begs, his voice cracking with emotion. "I thought – when I saw the news report – I really thought I'd lost you, and I couldn't bear it."

"Now you know how I've been feeling the last three months," she says, her tone a little sharper than she'd intended.

He pulls back and she sees his eyes are wet, although he's not quite crying. "I'm sorry. I was angry, and I told myself you wouldn't care."

"Stupid boy," she says angrily, giving his arms a shake. "I care about you more than anyone, although if you ever repeat that to anyone else I'll kill you myself." He makes a noise that's half laughter, half a sob. "Go and have a shower. You can use the guest room tonight. Have you eaten?"

He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. "No."

She nods. "Then go have a shower and change, and I'll make something for us to eat."

"Thank you." He puts a hand on her shoulder and dips his head to kiss her on the mouth.

"James."

"I know, I know" he says heavily. "I'm going." He goes out, and she turns towards the fridge to see what food she has in. Going after him would be a very bad idea, given the fragile state of mind they're both in tonight. She knows that she shouldn't really let him stay the night but she hasn't the heart to send him away. A large part of that is guilt, of course: guilt that she'd told Eve to take the shot and that she hadn't trusted him to put down the man who'd stolen the data drive. 

Guilt won't help them, though, and regrets are unprofessional: all they can do is get the job done.

007-007-007

He comes back fifteen minutes later, barefoot and wrapped in a towel. "Um, I can't get changed," he says, looking sheepish. "I've no other clothes."

M rolls her eyes as she takes the saucepan of stew she's been heating off the heat. "I'll find you something."

His eyebrows rise. "No offence M, but I doubt I'd look good in anything of yours."

She swats his arm as she passes. "Foolish boy." She looks at him over her shoulder as she walks away. "Come on, then."

He follows her back to the guest room and she opens the wardrobe door, revealing that there are men's clothes hanging in it. She pulls out a shirt and a suit. "Try those, you're about the same height as my late husband," she says. "I didn't keep any of Max's underwear, though, so you'll have to go barefoot I'm afraid."

He smirks at her as he takes the hangers, and she smacks his arm a second time. "Stop it."

"I didn't say anything," he protests.

"Your face said everything. Get dressed, dinner's nearly ready."

"Yes ma'am." He turns to the bed and she forces herself to go back to the kitchen: if she doesn't go this instant, she knows she'll do something foolish. 

When he comes back into the kitchen a few minutes later he's still barefoot, and the top few buttons of the shirt are open, and she feels as if she might melt, but she concentrates on serving up the food and not on staring at his exposed throat. She has wanted him many times in the past, but never so much as at this moment: she just has to hope that he won't realise or she won't be able to resist him, and she knows that she must.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the AU bit.

6\. 

Bond stands on the roof of the MI6 building, staring out over the London skyline. He recalls all the times he would go up onto the roof of their old building in an attempt to hide from M, which had never worked because she always seemed to know he was there, even when he wasn't wearing a tracking chip in his arm. She would wander onto the roof to exchange snarky banter with him, and he misses that. He also misses kissing her: she had let him steal far more of them than he'd expected, although not as many as he wanted. Of course, kisses weren't all that he'd wanted from M, but even after her husband's death, she'd proved wholly resistant to his charms.

He's still standing there when Eve comes up onto the rooftop, and he makes conversation as politely as he can, but he'd far rather be on his own.

"Her will was read today," Eve says, coming to the point, and he looks at the box in her hands, wondering what it might contain. "She left you this."

He takes it from her and lifts the lid to reveal that bloody British bulldog ornament.

"Maybe it was her way of telling you to take a desk job?" Eve's voice is bubbling with amusement.

He smiles. "Just the opposite." He puts the lid back on the box and gives Eve another smile. "Thank you."

He watches her walk back towards the door to the stairs, and once he's certain that she's gone, he takes the lid off the box again, convinced there's something else in the box besides the dog because the box is deeper than it needs to be to hold the dog. He tucks the lid under his arm, then lifts out the ornament and the tissue paper on which it rests. Beneath it there's a cardboard 'shelf' to support the dog. He curses silently, takes a firmer grip on the dog and shoves the tissue paper into his pocket, then lifts up the cardboard. Taped to the bottom of the box is a small plain white envelope with his name typed on the front. 

At this point he gives up trying to hold on to everything and squatting down on his haunches, he puts the dog on the upturned lid, then yanks his right glove off with his teeth so he can free the envelope. Opening it he finds a key – it looks like an ordinary front door key – and a piece of paper on which is typed a set of coordinates, longitude and latitude, that it takes him only a moment to realise is somewhere in central England. He slips the key and paper back into the envelope and tucks that into his coat pocket, then reassembles the box and its contents into their proper order before heading downstairs.

He leaves the box on the desk in his office, sheds his coat, scarf and gloves, then heads through to see Mallory, whom he supposes he must now learn to call 'M'. The contents of the envelope nags at his mind, however, and as soon as Mallory's briefed him, he returns to his office and looks up the coordinates online. He's slightly puzzled to discover they refer to somewhere in Oxfordshire known as The Vale of the White Horse. If this is a message from M – his M – then it's a distinctly cryptic one, but he can't think who else it might be from. He frowns at the map on his screen, then shuts down the laptop in a decisive manner. The only way to find an explanation for this is to investigate. He's got a few days to spare before his next mission, and while he knows he has to do the prep work before he leaves, he reckons he can spare a few hours today to resolve this little mystery.

007-007-007

Bond is on the road to Oxfordshire within half an hour, and as soon as he hits the motorway, he lets the car have its head: Six has replaced his beloved Aston Martin since his old one got blown up in the cause of trying to protect the head of the Service, and this is the first chance he's had to try out the paces of the new car. It only takes him an hour to reach Oxfordshire, but he takes a further half hour to find the precise location to which he's been directed since he twice gets lost amongst the narrow roads and lanes despite the GPS app on his phone.

Finally, though, he pulls up on the grass verge beside a gate which opens onto a garden at the other end of which stands a very old, yet well-maintained, cottage. He climbs from the car and pauses to stretch the kinks out of his muscles, his eyes fixed on the building. There's a trickle of smoke coming from the chimney, so someone's at home, but who it is he cannot begin to guess. He sighs, then opens the gate and makes his way down the garden path. He pauses at the front door, then takes out the key he's been given, and lets himself into the house. He steps in cautiously and quietly, but all he can hear are the sounds of the countryside, and the ticking of the grandfather clock at the far end of the hall. He closes the front door softly, then begins to reconnoitre the cottage. 

Bond doesn't know what he's looking for or what he expects to find, he just knows that there's something here that M wanted him to see or have. He can't see anything obvious in the kitchen, the tiny downstairs loo, or the sitting room, but when he crosses the sitting room to the conservatory at the back of the house, he sees what he's come for: a white-haired woman seated in a comfortable chair with, of all things, a black cat asleep in her lap.

She looks up as he approaches and gives him a smile, one of those rare full smiles with warmth in her blue eyes. "Hello James." Her tone is calm and friendly, and she seems to take his arrival entirely for granted.

As he stares speechlessly at her, he feels a surge of emotions: joy and relief that she is not, after all, dead; bemusement that she isn't dead, yet he had held her in his arms as she died; and anger that she's allowed him to think she died a month ago.

"Who knew?" he demands, his voice choked with emotion.

"No one, apart from Mallory," she says. 

She's watching him warily and he realises his fists are clenched. Deliberately he relaxes his hands again. "Why?"

"Why the charade?" she asks, and he nods. She gives a half shrug. "I wasn't sure that continuing as M would be a good idea, even assuming you took down Silva, which I didn't doubt you would, by the way. Too many people, too many of _my_ people, had lost faith in me, and I couldn't, in all conscience, send men and women out into the field if they didn't trust me. So I suggested to Gareth Mallory that it might be better if I 'died', even if Silva didn't finish me off."

He shakes his head, but it's not really disbelief at what she's done: she's been a Double-0 agent, after all, so the concept of sacrificing herself for Queen and country is as engrained in her psyche as his own. 

"Is this your revenge for Turkey?" he asks, and she looks so startled that he realises the idea hadn't occurred to her.

"It's not. It didn't even occur to me that you'd see it that way. I've spent the past month recovering from what Silva did to me, and I've seen no one except medical people."

"Why didn't you let me know sooner?" 

"Because I wasn't up to receiving visitors." Her tone is patient, the one she adopts when she feels he's being especially obtuse. "Do you know how much it takes out of a person my age, recovering from a gunshot wound?" He shakes his head. "Well, let's hope you never have to find out, because it's bloody exhausting." She gestures to the chair opposite her own. "Sit down, James, I'm getting a crick in my neck looking up at you."

He obeys, then nods at the cat in her lap. "Who's that?"

"Misty. My neighbour's away and I'm looking after him for her."

"Never pictured you as a cat person," he says.

"Never been one before." She's subjecting him to one of her scrutinising stares, and he leans back in the chair, watching her. "You look relatively fit and well, better than when I saw you last, at least."

"When you saw me last I'd just been fighting for my life in the lake with one of Silva's men," he tells her.

"Deep water," she murmurs, and he gives her a ghost of a smile. 

"Why am I here, M?" he asks.

She lifts an eyebrow at him. "M is Gareth Mallory," she says, "even you must have noticed that by now."

"You once told me you'd kill me if I repeated your name. Given you've already had me killed once this year, I prefer not to risk a second death."

"Are you ever going to let that go?" she asks. He shrugs and she huffs impatiently. "I don't like my first name."

"Then I'll go on calling you M," he says.

The cat wakes up at this point and leaps down off her lap, then trots over to the door Bond had closed behind him, and mews. He gets up and opens the door, and when he turns back M is on her feet also.

"Do you want to stay for lunch?" 

"Yes please." 

She gives a nod and makes her way towards the door; he follows, watching her carefully, alert for any sign that moving might be too much for her, but although she moves slowly, she doesn't seem in imminent danger of falling over.

She leads him into the kitchen, but he insists on making their lunch, so she sits at the table, directing operations in a manner highly reminiscent of her time as M, but with fewer people, and no guns at all.

He takes a container of fresh soup, homemade she tells him, from the fridge and puts that on to heat, then puts some part-baked bread rolls into the oven to finish baking. He makes a pot of tea as well, and they have their meal there in the kitchen. He remembers the night he got back from Turkey, and how she'd fed him then too. He'd stayed in her guest room, although what he'd really wanted was to stay in her bed. Of course, once he'd heard Silva's story he'd realised just why she'd been resisting him for so long: her relationship with Silva, or Rodriguez as he'd been at the time, was the mistake she'd referred to after Kabir's capture in Russia.

They eat the soup and rolls, then M cuts them both a slice of chocolate cake. He quirks his eyebrow at her since it's clearly a homemade cake.

"Mrs Williams," she says, "the neighbour. She made it as a thank you for looking after Misty."

"Somehow I couldn't see you making it," he observes.

"Why not?" she demands, looking affronted. "I made the soup."

He throws his hands up in surrender. "I apologise for impugning your cooking abilities," he says.

"So I should think, 007."

"Oh, now I know you're offended," he says. "I'm only ever '007' when you're really annoyed with me."

"Nonsense."

He shakes his head, then gets to his feet and clears the table. He loads up the dishwasher, then glances over at M. "Do you want me to put this on?"

"No, thank you. I'll do it this evening after dinner."

He gives a nod, then walks back to the table and offers her his arm, which she takes, and they make their way to the sitting room rather than the conservatory. She moves towards the fireplace, but Bond stops her.

"Let me." He rebuilds the fire using the pieces of split wood from a log basket nearby, and silently speculates about who's been chopping wood for her. He can feel M's eyes on him and he wonders what she's thinking about. She'd seemed genuinely pleased to see him when he arrived, but over lunch she had seemed almost ill-at-ease, and he considers whether or not she's regretting letting him back into her life.

He gets to his feet and dusts off his hands, then turns to see she's taken a seat on the sofa. "Would you rather I left?" he asks.

She looks surprised. "Why would I want you to leave? You haven't been here that long. Or do you have a hot date?"

He scowls briefly. "No I don't," he says tersely, and she gives him an apologetic look as if she senses she's hit a nerve.

"If you don't have to go rushing off, I'd like you to stay a bit longer," she says, and pats the seat beside her.

He crosses the room and sits next to her. He's somewhat taken aback when she slips her hand into his, but he doesn't object; instead he squeezes her fingers.

"I'm sorry I didn't let Gareth Mallory tell you that I'd survived," she says softly. 

He shakes his head. "It's okay. I understand that you needed time to heal."

"You'll probably think me a foolish old woman – " 

"Never," he says emphatically, interrupting without hesitation.

She arches an eyebrow at him, and he gestures for her to continue. "I didn't want you to see me when I was injured and weak," she says.

He lets go of her hand to put his arm around her. "I can understand that. It can't have been easy for you."

M sighs. "It was awful."

"It's over now, though."

"Yes. I got the all-clear from my surgeon yesterday."

"So what do you plan to do with your retirement?" Bond is still wondering just what he's doing here, why she has invited him to come.

"I don't know. I wasn't expecting to retire yet."

"Somehow I can't imagine you sitting here, knitting and looking after the neighbour's cat."

She snorts. "Neither can I, not least because I can't knit. Max and I bought this cottage years ago, so we'd have somewhere for weekends away, when we could get away, and for us to enjoy our retirement."

His arm is still around her and when he hears the sadness in her voice he tightens his hold a little, then presses a kiss to her temple. She lifts her head and her blue eyes gaze intently into his. "James – "

"I know, M, I know. I mustn't."

She lifts an eyebrow again. "You can," she says.

He gives her a puzzled look. "I can what?"

"Kiss me." When he says nothing she adds quickly, "Only if you want to, of course. I'll understand if you no longer want to." She pulls away from him and gets to her feet before he can answer. There's a seat in the bay window that overlooks the back garden and she crosses the room to sit there instead.

To say he's surprised is an understatement. He had resigned himself to never having his desire for M fulfilled: despite his best efforts, she'd always resisted him, and Bond had understood why once he had realised that she'd been intimate with Rodriguez, and that he'd taken advantage of the situation.

"Is that why I'm here?" he asks, getting to his feet and moving to stand behind her. "To kiss you?"

She directs a fierce scowl up at him. "You're here because I thought you'd want to know that I am still alive. Stupidly, I thought you'd want to know, that you cared – "

He cuts her off, ducking his head to kiss her firmly and none too gently, as he steadies the back of her head with his hand. To his relief M melts into the kiss, her arm coming up around his neck to pull him even closer.

When she pulls away to catch her breath he begins planting butterfly kisses all over her face until she brings up her hands to cup his face. She gazes into his eyes and he stares back, noting every wrinkle and the crow's feet around her eyes, but finding them beautiful rather than daunting.

"You're gorgeous when you're angry," he breathes.

Surprise blossoms in her eyes, then her gaze sharpens. "Is that why you were always going out of your way to piss me off?"

He laughs. "I didn't. And no, pissing you off was always an unintentional side effect of doing my job."

"Humph. I – "

He cuts her off a second time with another kiss, then he scoops her up from the window seat and carries her back across to the sofa.

"James!" she exclaims, but he thinks it's more in surprise than protest.

He sets her down, then sits down beside her. "I did want to know," he tells her. "I do care about you, always have, but I'd given up hope of ever having anything but a professional relationship with you."

"Do you blame me for trying to keep things purely professional?" she asks. "Now that you know about Silva?"

"No. Although I will point out that Silva and I are different people."

"I know, James, but you have to admit that most of the time you were working for me, I barely had control over you – you were always slipping the leash and doing whatever you deemed necessary, orders be damned."

"Well, at least that's no longer your problem."

"No, and I wish Gareth Mallory joy of you."

He laughs, then slides his arm around her. "Let's not talk about work, okay?"

"Very well. What do you – " 

He interrupts her again with yet another kiss, and scoops her up to sit sideways across his lap, his left arm supporting her back as he begins trailing the fingers of his right hand up her right leg from the back of her knee towards her thigh.

"Tell me to stop," he says against her mouth.

"Don't," she breathes.

His hand slides under her skirt and across her bare skin until he reaches the silk of her underwear. He pulls his head back to look at her face, noting the dreamy expression in her eyes, then he eases his fingers behind the material and carefully begins to touch her.

She shudders in his arms and shifts her left leg, giving him better access. Bond immediately takes advantage, pushing two fingers into her pussy and beginning to stroke her. He watches her face intently, catching the slight widening of her eyes as his fingers penetrate deeper, and feeling the hitch of her breath against his face. She moans as his fingers find her sweet spot and begin to massage it in combination with his thumb pressing on her clit, and she's soon shuddering and trembling in his arms as her orgasm builds and builds.

He's surprised by how moved he feels when it's his name she gasps as her climax overcomes her, and he ducks his head to kiss her tenderly as he strokes her through the aftermath.

When he pulls back he feels a spasm of anxiety on noticing her eyes are wet, but she whispers reassurance. "My dear boy, thank you." 

"Where's your room?" he asks, sliding his fingers free.

"Upstairs, the big room at the back, overlooking the garden."

He nods, then slides his arm under her legs and gets to his feet to carry her upstairs. It's not the easiest manoeuvre to pull off as the staircase is narrow, and he's sporting a raging erection, but he manages to get her safely to her room. He lowers her onto the bed, then steps back slightly to look down at her. He becomes conscious of the fact that he's never seen M looking so alive before, and he quickly begins to undress himself as he realises that he wants her very badly now.

He stops short of removing his boxers in order to undress M, slipping off her shoes, then her jacket, before rapidly unbuttoning her blouse. He removes that and her skirt, leaving her in just her bra and knickers for the moment, then climbs onto the bed beside her.

"I want to kiss you all over," he says. 

She raises her eyebrow, and he ducks his head to kiss it. "Do you think you can last that long?" she asks, and her hand slides down his swollen shaft. He sucks in his breath involuntarily, and she smirks.

"Maybe that can be after play instead of foreplay," he admits, which elicits a very sexy chuckle.

"Post-coital kissing all over sounds lovely. Let's take care of this first." She cups him through his boxers and he gives a quick nod of agreement, then reaches for her bra and knickers. He allows M to remove his boxers, and can't help a smirk when she comments favourably on the size of his prick.

"There's some lube in that drawer," she tells him, pointing at the bedside table, and he quickly hauls it open and pulls out the familiar blue tube. She takes it from him and he watches in silent appreciation as she puts plenty on his cock, enjoying the sensation of her hands on him. Then he takes the tube from her, drops it onto the floor, and moves his body over hers.

"Ready?"

"And willing," she answers promptly, which makes him laugh.

She's tight, but she doesn't flinch as he begins to ease inside her; instead she wraps her arms around him and encourages him with soft moans and words.

"You feel so good," he murmurs when he's fully sheathed in her pussy.

"Dear James, so do you," she tells him, then she wraps her legs around his and gives his cock a squeeze, and he accepts the silent hint and begins to thrust, gently at first, then more strongly as they find a rhythm.

It's all over far too quickly, but M doesn't seem dissatisfied when he comments on it.

"My dear boy, what do you expect, when we've both waited so long to do this?" She kisses him deeply. "I'm sure that we'll be able to go a bit slower next time." He grins at the words 'next time', and she smirks up at him, clearly guessing his thought processes. "No, I wasn't intending for this to be a one-off."

"Good." He wraps his arms around her, then rolls them over so that she's lying on top of him, and he feels very comfortable.

"Do you have to rush back to London?" she asks, lifting her head to look down at him.

"No. I've got a new assignment but Mallory's given me a few days to prepare, so I could stay the night, if you wanted me to?"

"I'd like that very much." She kisses him, and he realises abruptly that this is the first time she's initiated a kiss. It's a thrilling experience and he finds himself thoroughly aroused by the time she pulls away to catch her breath.

"Jesus, M, I had no idea you could kiss like that."

She grins at him and he nips at her bottom lip before asking, "What other secrets have you been keeping from me?"

"That's for me to know – and you to find out," she answers.

"Minx." He kisses her quick and hard, then adds, "I'm so glad you're not dead."

M snorts. "As it happens, Bond, so am I."

She kisses him again and he decides that he likes the idea of finding out M's secrets, and that he intends to take his time about the process of discovery.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Five F*cking Times](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1995822) by [tayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tayryn/pseuds/tayryn)




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